


Lifting Latches

by paperbackwriterfromnowhere



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M, Neighbours AU, but ya gotta start somewhere right?, enemies to lovers AU, will be mature eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9416123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperbackwriterfromnowhere/pseuds/paperbackwriterfromnowhere
Summary: Jim McCartney moves himself and his two sons into the house next door to John Lennon during a summer holiday. John immediately dislikes them all for disrupting his quiet time when he's trying to draw, but when Aunt Mimi and Uncle George invite the new neighbours over for dinner, John's lack of interest gets him into something he never planned on.





	1. Get Back

The scratch of John's pencil against the sketch pad Aunt Mimi had gotten him for passing (almost) all his courses for the year has more than a calming effect. It's beyond therapeutic for him, giving him a place to channel his pent up emotions. It's better than the old, used books at Quarry Bank for a multitude of reasons, his favourite, though, is the sound the pencil makes.

He's pulled from his deep concentration, sketching away in his tiny bedroom at Mendips by the sound of music (and the occasional wrong notes that make him cringe) and then, _snap!_

The tip broke off, John having to get up to sharpen it again. The whole thing seems like too much work so John throws his pencil at the wall, sits back in his chair and seethes with anger as his hands rub down his face. These bloody new neighbours, the McCartneys, the father had said, they were insufferable. John leaned his head out the window and screamed for them to not to play music ever again.

One of the young boys answered, “Okay!” But they didn't stop playing, making his blood boil. Still hanging half out the window, John yells again, “Knock it off or I'll shove that fuckin’ thing up your arse, McCartney!”

While this _should_ make Paul angry, it actually makes him laugh. John doesn't hear, of course, but the music stops long enough for John to believe he's won. He comes back inside, drawing a heavy sigh. He gets a fresh pencil from his bag carelessly strewn at the foot of his bed and settles once more at his desk.

There's a few minutes of silence where Paul's put away his bass and is getting out his acoustic guitar, moving to the screened in porch out back because he's unaware of the sheer ferocity that is John Lennon’s temper and begins to play away right there on the back patio.

The noise draws an _angry_ growl from John as he slams his pencil down and flies down the stairs, ignoring Mimi’s questions and protests as he runs out the back, letting the door slam behind him, much to Mimi’s chagrin. 

“Oi!” John yells, still stalking towards Paul, lifting the latch to his back gate and flinging it open. “What the bloody hell’s yer problem, mate? Don't ya ever think about anybody but yer fuckin’ self?” His voice is loud and full of rage and Paul realises perhaps he shouldn't fuck with this one.

“Jus’ practising me music, mate. Nothin’ says I can't,” Paul answers in an even tone, noting the way the other squinted so. He can't help but think it's actually kind of cute and he feels his freckled face redden. “Didn't mean to disturb anyone…”

“‘s that why ya kept playin’ after I yelled?”

Paul gives a small shrug with the hint of a smirk and decides to go inside without saying another word to the very attractive arsehole. This might anger John more than anything else and he slams the gate shut only to find Aunt Mimi scowling from the door. Fucking Christ this was gonna be a long, long summer break.

The next few days pass uneventfully, John alternating between being bored, being an artist, and causing trouble all through town. It was near dusk one particularly muggy afternoon when John was sat down by the water, watching the boats there as he did so often. Paul had seen him heading down to his favourite spot in their new house and he decides to try and make some sort of amends with the boy.

“Sorry ‘bout the other day,” Paul says, undeterred by the fact that John was clearly refusing to acknowledge his presence. The younger boy, in a bold move, sits down next to John and gives him a smile. “Name’s Paul,” he offers a hand.

John looks at him incredulously, eyes flitting to his hand. He rolls his eyes, unmoving from the position he’s in and looks back out to the water.

Paul lowers his hand and gives a slight roll of his eyes. “Right… well… can’t say I didn’t try, then,” he mumbles mostly to himself, standing up and walking away.

When John was sure Paul wasn’t going to look back, he did himself-- at the same time Paul did. John gives a scoff and rests his chin on his knee again, sighing. Why did this summer of all of them have to be the one when Pete’s family decided they were going to take the holiday and travel the countryside. If Pete was here, Paul would’ve been pranked endlessly, that’s for sure, but as it were, John didn’t feel much like putting in all that effort on this wanker.

A couple of days later, John returns from stealing three packs of cigs, a harmonica, and nine 45s tucked into his pants and is stopped immediately as he comes in by Mimi, carrying a giant serving tray. His Uncle George rounds the corner right behind her, slapping John on his back and laughing. “Your Aunt invited the new neighbours over for dinner, come on. You’re late, Johnny!” 

John’s eyes roll and he mumbles, “I need a piss.”

He takes the opportunity to empty his pockets and woefully returns downstairs, drawn only by the promise of Mimi’s delicious spread and he plops in a seat, arms folded over his chest.

Mimi slaps John on the back of the head with a stern look. “Don’t slouch, John. And take that awful jacket off, we’ve company.”

“Yes, Mimi,” he mutters, taking it off and hanging it up, sitting back at the table with less of a slouch.

“So, Jim, just you and your two boys, eh?” George asks, all smiles.

John gives an audible sigh and a dramatic eyeroll. Paul simply glares at him, while Mike, the other one is far too concerned with the food in front of him. John follows this one and dives into the food, focusing all his attention on eating, only to be interrupted by his uncle, only catching the tail end.

“--isn’t that right, John?” 

He nods blindly, “Mmhmm… yeah.”

“Perfect! He’s always wanted to learn how to play guitar proper. He’s tried his hand at the banjo, but that’s where it stops. Can’t play anything but bloody banjo chords on the guitar.”

“Paul may be a bit young, but he’s a great teacher when it comes to music,” Jim beams proudly.

John raised his brows. What the fuck had he just gotten himself into?


	2. I've Got a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to his dismay, Aunt Mimi and Uncle George encourage John to take guitar lessons from Paul next door. Can John and Paul tolerate one another long enough to last the lesson?

“But Mimi, I don't WANT to! I don't like him, he's a bloody arse!” John complains, voice whiny and pleading.

“I don't much care what you think of him, I don't exactly care for him or for the idea of you playing the guitar, but your uncle seems to think it'll do you good. There's not much I acquiesce to, but further thought into the matter has me thinking perhaps it _will_ do you some good, John.”

“But, Mimi!” he whines again, cut off by Mimi raising a hand with a stern look.

“The McCartneys are expecting you to be at their door in less than five minutes. Not another word.”

He's about to tell Mimi to fuck off, rage boiling inside of him, threatening to seep out in a rush of overflowing emotions (something John's never been good at handling) when Uncle George appears, casual and smiling. He _knows_ John's about to lose it and so he leans against the door frame, arms crossing over his chest, easy smile on his face.

“‘s just the guitar, John. It's not gonna kill you,” he laughs.

With a groan and a huff, John flings the front door open so hard it slams against the wall, making Mimi jump and clutch gently at her chest. They vaguely hear the sound of the latch lifting on the gate and the subsequent slam as John throws a fit walking over to Paul’s and knocking aggressively on the door with a huff.

She looks to George, frown on her lips. “Do you really think it alright for him to learn to play the guitar?”

“‘Course I do! Boy’s an artist, Mimi. No matter if is a pencil or an instrument in his hands. It'll keep him more occupied and be better for ‘im if he wastes time on any kinda art instead of runnin’ around town causing trouble.” Mimi nods in agreement and returns to the kitchen, but not before spending a few moments watching as John waits on the front porch, shaking her head and continues on to her work.

He rocks back and forth on his heels, sighing loudly as finally Paul returns with two guitars. 

“This one's me dad's. It's strung up normally,” Paul explains, taking a seat in the chair and handling the guitar to him.

John takes it and inspects it closely, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out what normal means. Paul gets his own guitar in place against his thigh and looks to John with a grin.

“That’s the wrong way up, son,” John says.

Paul laughs and plays out _Twenty Flight Rock_. Much to his dismay, John’s foot is tapping to the beat and for the first time in the last few days, he doesn’t completely hate Paul. Until he stops playing of course.

“Good job, mate. You can play a guitar backwards. ‘M not learnin’ to do it wrong way ‘round.”

“That’s why I gave you me dad’s guitar. You can sit like that across from me and watch me hands on the chords. Yer Uncle said you played a bit?” John nods. “Well, go on. Let’s hear it.” Paul’s smiling, happy to share music with anyone, even John Lennon.

John rolls his eyes, looking away for a moment and rests his chin on the guitar. “Well, y’know… this isn’t me mum’s guitar… so… it might not be great,” he sighs, getting up and playing out _Maggie Mae_ as his mother, Julia, taught him, but using the banjo chords and only playing on the three strings. When he’s done, he shrugs. 

“Good! You’ve definitely got promise,” Paul smiles, beaming at the chance to share music, to teach someone. He doesn’t even care if it’s the arsehole from next door.

“Yeah, well, art’s really more my thing,” he says, acting like he’s not thrilled with the praise (he certainly is).

“If you don’t wanna learn how to play better, you don’t have to, but I’m willing to look past our, uh… rough start if you will.”

John looks out the window, thinking about Mimi and Julia and how proud they would be if he learned something new like this, as he tended to under-apply himself in school at all times. The only thing he cared for was art, and Mimi was _not_ impressed by this. Maybe if he could write a song? He knew Julia would be proud regardless, she **always** was. He looks back to Paul and nods. “Alright. Teach me, Professor Macca.”

“McCartney,” Paul corrects.

“Right. Macca,” he grins. Paul sighs and shakes his head, deciding to ignore it and continues on to teach John three chords and how to properly tune the guitar (to which John paid little attention, convinced tuning it like a banjo was perfectly fine). After a few moments pf picking at the strings, he asked, “Why are guitars and banjo tuned differently?” 

“Well, for starters they’re two different instruments. A guitar has more strings, produces a different sound, so they’re tuned differently.”

“You sure know a lot about music… how old are you?”

“Fifteen… you?”

“Seventeen… you got a girlfriend?”

Paul shakes his head, blushing. “No, no girlfriend… you?”

John shrugs. “Couple,” he laughs.

Paul nods, brow raising. “Lovely…” He raises his gaze to the window, noticing it’s getting dark and sighs. “Suppose we should wrap it up for the night. Gettin’ dark out. Dad said you could borrow that if you’d like to practice on it.”

John’s brows raise, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“Thanks, mate,” he says, still unsure about Paul, but willing to continue to be civil. They say their goodbyes and John comes in the house with the guitar, heading straight to his room. He sits on the bed and goes over a few chords he learned from Paul. That’s when Mimi appears in the door, arms crossed. “John Lennon _where_ did you get that?”

“Mr. McCartney said I could borrow it for a bit,” he grins up at her.

Mimi can’t help but smile at the excitement on his face and nods. “Alright… that’s enough playing for tonight, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mimi,” he sighs, putting it down carefully in the chair by his desk.

“How did you get on with Paul?”

“He’s alright. You know he’s only fourteen?”

“He acts a bit more mature than that, don’t you think?”

John shrugs, plopping onto his bed in his favorite position with his legs up against the wall, lying on his back. “He’s alright. Still don’t care for ‘im.”

“Mmhmm… good night, John,” Mimi says.

“G’night, Mimi.”

John will never admit it, but he dreams of Paul that night. And himself, of course. Standing on a stage together, singing out that song Paul’d sang to him. There’s something about the way they look at each other that suggests something more than friendship, and when John awakes, he runs a hand down his face, head shaking in disbelief.

“The bloody hell was that about?” he says quietly to himself. The notion was ridiculous! John _wasn’t_ homosexual. He **loved** girls. 

...so... why can’t he get Paul’s face out of his head?


	3. Do You Want to Know a Secret?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe John felt it too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to stonedlennon for Beta'ing for me. Bless <3

It's been a week and John’s been a right bastard to Paul. He sits in front of him unable to hit the chord Paul wants him to play and when Paul reaches for his hand (something he’s been doing in all of John’s dreams every night) it’s too much for John to deal with. 

He snatches his hand away and stands up abruptly. “Fuck off, McCartney! I said I bloody can’t do it!”

He doesn’t bother removing Jim McCartney’s guitar from the makeshift rope strap on his shoulders as he storms out, in fact, he simply turns the guitar neck down so it hangs on his back. John is _frustrated_ on so many levels. He lifts the latch on the gate and nearly kicks it as he runs back into Mendips, causing Mimi to jump again. It’s not that his auntie is skittish, but on occasion, John manages to give her a little fright with his temper and ferocity.

“John Lennon!” she calls as he stomps up the stairs, ignoring her. “John Winston Lennon, you get back down here right away or so help me…”  
Begrudgingly, John comes back down just over halfway on the stairs, face red and blotchy with anger as he seethes. He isn’t even sure what precisely he’s mad at; he just knows he’s livid.

“What on _earth_ is your problem today?” Mimi says, her tone harsh and firm.

“Paul’s a bloody git, that’s what.”

Before Mimi can speak, there’s a knock on the front door, a rather short figure blurred by the thick glass of the front door. Mimi’s brow raises and John stomps back upstairs with a growl. She opens the door to see Paul, looking a bit sad and certainly confused.

“What is it?” Mimi asks. “What’s happened with you and John, hm?”

“I… I don’t know, Mrs. Smith. I was tryin’ to show him a chord and he got all red in the face and left out, slamming things around.”

Mimi sighs, nodding and motioning for Paul to come in. “Yes… he does that. Would you like some tea? He just needs a few minutes alone to calm down.”

“Oh… um, sure, thank you. Tea would be lovely.”

“Have a seat. I’ll bring it right out. I’ve just made some.”

Paul walks over to the table by the window and sits down, nervously fiddling with his hands until Mimi returns with the tea. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

She nods and sits across from him with her own cup of tea, gracefully stirring in the sugar. “So, why did John call you a git?” she says, the slightest hint of a smirk on her face.

Paul raises his brows, head shaking. “I don’t know,” he laughs, a bit uncomfortable. Paul’s been thinking about John non-stop, but he _wasn’t_ thinking when his hand reached out to touch the older boy’s. He wasn’t expecting the pure **electricity** that held so much intensity, Paul swears he saw literal sparks fly. But how do you go about telling this to _anyone_ , nevermind someone as proper as Mimi Smith. “I was showin’ him a chord and he was having trouble with and he shot up and ran off…”

“Sounds like John, alright,” she says, sipping her tea.

Paul was thankful she didn’t ask for more details. He was a bit embarrassed that something as simple as a tiny touch had clearly affected them both so much. He **did** wonder, though, how John felt about it-- did he feel it, too? Or was Paul making it all up in his head? He had no clue; John being the most difficult person to read that he’s ever encountered. A few rather uncomfortably silent moments passed, both sipping quietly at their tea until finally Paul spoke up.

“Do you think he’s calmed down now?”

Mimi tilts an ear to listen for signs of a not-so-calm John upstairs and when she doesn’t hear any, she nods. “Go on up, Paul,” she says with a soft smile. She hadn’t liked him much in the beginning, but as it were, John had been out of trouble for a whole week since hanging around Paul, so you might say he’s growing on Mimi.

Paul nods, “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Smith.”

“You’re welcome. Now, run along,” she says gently.

Paul smiles, too, and heads upstairs. He knocks on John’s door before pushing it open. “What was that all about?” His voice is calm and restrained, no hint of anger and John looks up from where he sits on the edge of his bed and stares for a moment at the blur he knows to be Paul.

“I can’t do it, alright? I’m shite at playin’ the guitar, just come out with it!” he snaps.

“You _been_ playin’ the guitar for a whole bloody week now! Don’t say you can’t play it because you cocked up one stupid chord. That’s--” Paul huffs out a breath. He wants to say that’s not what this is about, but at the same time, he’s not sure he can handle this conversation. He really likes John-- **really** likes him. The way the other boys like girls. This is quite the revelation for a boy of fifteen and he’s not entirely sure what the hell to do about it. For a moment, he thought maybe John felt the same way, but the way he recoiled from his touch… well… Paul doesn’t want to think about that.

“Oh, fuck off, Macca. I can’t do it and that’s that. Might as well throw it in now before I embarrass myself any more than I already have.” John gives a heavy sigh and lies down on his bed, twisting himself around, legs up on the wall in his favorite position. 

Paul sighs as well, gently sitting at the opposite end of the bed, speaking softly, “Y’know… you’re actually picking things up really well and with a bit o’ practice, you’ll have that chord down in no time… you’re bloody great for only havin’ played for a week.” Paul’s cheeks flushing red as he turns away.

“Why do you care so much about me playin’ the guitar?” John asks after a moment of squinting and trying to study Paul’s flushed face. He picks up his glasses that he’d placed on his pillow and puts them on. _Much better._

The younger boy shrugs, biting his lip. “I dunno… I guess, y’know… it’s just nice to have a… to have someone interested in music like me. Most boys I meet only wanna talk about sports or girls… it’s just nice to be able to share music with someone.” His breath catches in his throat when his eyes meet John’s and he completely loses all train of thought.

John’s gaze doesn’t let up and is intense as ever as he searches Paul’s eyes (now that he can see him proper). Paul wants to look away, but he can’t because there’s something special about John, and if Paul could read the other’s mind, he’d see that John thinks there’s something special about Paul. It’s not something that either of them could put into words, but both of them are feeling.

“I’m sorry…” He doesn’t want to talk about it because he doesn’t talk about his feelings. John bites his lip as he looks up at Paul from his strange position. He notices the way he’s fidgeting and he really fucking hopes this kid is not gonna freak out about this. “It’s alright. It… it wasn’t anything you did.”

Paul exhales a deep breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, nodding his head. It wasn’t anything Paul did. That was a good thing… he locks eyes with John for a moment and neither look away. John holding this gaze with him makes him feel like maybe he’s not going mad-- maybe… maybe John felt it too?

“Did you…” he starts, quickly running out of steam as he looks away from John’s ever-intense gaze. Did he bloody look at _everyone_ like that?

“Did I what?”

“No, it’s nothing. Daft, really…” he laughs nervously.

“Well now you have to tell me. My bed, my rules, Macca,” John laughs, swatting at Paul’s arm, ending up a bit closer to him.

“Um… well, it’s just… I was... “ he closes his eyes and breathes out. “Did you… y’know… did you feel… _that_ when I-- when our hands touched?” Paul asks, voice shaky and so low it was almost a whisper.

John freezes, eyes widening. He swallows thickly and debates about lying for a moment, but Paul asked so… Paul felt it too? All he can do is nod. He has no idea what to do with this information at all.

“What d’you think it means?” Paul asks in a whisper.

“I think… I don’t know… but maybe I think it means I don’t hate you as much as I thought I did,” John says with a small smile.


End file.
